


Changing Seasons

by Anatak



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Caring Thranduil, Depressed Legolas, I didnt proof read this, Legolas? more like negolas, No Sex, Not a Love Story, Parent Thranduil, Thranduil's A+ Parenting, just good clean fiction, seasonal depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 02:56:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12202482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatak/pseuds/Anatak
Summary: honestly this is a fic that I wrote ages ago and never finished but I like it so I thought I might as well do something with it and post it, I might finish it one day but until then, ima just post it





	Changing Seasons

It had been a particularly warm day for this time of autumn, like summer was still trying to hold fast to her fleeting time. The final flowers bloomed, being drawn out by the summer’s dying breath and Legolas took this final chance to breath the heavily scented air and bathe in the cooling waterfalls. He took his time to braid brightly coloured flowers into his hair, knowing it would be the last chance of the year, and climbed into a large tree, watching the sunset and feeling the forest come to rest around him. He felt a gentle shift as the old tree he was perched in relaxed away and was overcomb by the greedy tongue of winter, taking what was not yet its and pulling away a single leaf. He shifted as the leaf drifted into the distance, carrying with it the memories of summer.  
When Legolas finally returned home, it was late into the night and the moon had already dragged high into the sky. The entrance smelt greatly of rich wines and cinnamon, and the Elven prince could taste the thick musky air even behind closed lips, but when he went to taste them they had been sweet, like apples. He stayed for a moment, eyes falling closed as he let the flavour bring him back, back to the castle, and his people. Sweet tastes of autumn pulling him out of the trees and away from the water, bringing him home.  
He always found the changing of seasons so difficult, so many things to part with, so many farewells. The shifting of animals and plant life, and his heart ached each time he had to watch the world move on a little bit without him. It was in these moments when he felt his immortality for the burden it was.  
The taste in his mouth turned salty and he knew he was crying, but he made no effort to stop. The tears painted stripes down his cheeks and he let them, until suddenly they were no longer soft and poetic but sobbing hiccups and he stood in the open doorway, pathetically crying like an elfling over the uncontrollable nature of the world.  
The subtly change in the air would not have stopped him had it not been for the fact the air now felt thick like roots wrapping around his chest, holding him in a way more comforting than anyone could ever imagine. His father's scent had always been so easy to identify, so surprisingly distinct to him. He smelt like the trees that Legolas always found himself returning too. He looked up, blue eyes locking so intensely that he swore he could see past them and directly into his father.  
“Ion nin?” His usually strong voice coming across softly as to not frighten the crying boy, his fatherly instincts being dredged up suddenly.  
“A-Ada...” The boy’s eyes fell to the ground heavy with shame, and in the moonlight he appeared too pale, too absent of colour. He must have seemed so weak standing there, his eyes puffy and his body trembling ever so slightly.  
The kings breathing hitched, suddenly afraid for his son’s health. He moved forward, closing the distance with who knows how many steps, and coming to rest before his son. Reaching forward with concern he looked over Legolas’ face and hands, assuming it must have been injury that caused his son to be in this state. His eyes scanned the child’s body searching for the cause, his hands ever so gently moving along his arms, his chest, manipulating his position in an attempt to find the source of the younger elf's pain.  
Legolas tried weakly to stop his father, to assure him that he was fine, but it came out as a choked sob and Thranduil's hands stopped instantaneously for fear of causing the young elf more pain. His fingers rested ever so softly on his son, holding their position and he could feel the boy’s heart beating. The solid thud, strong enough to move his hand but so very slow.  
The King’s gaze pulled up to the boy’s face and in his pristine blue eyes he could see a sadness he’d never seen in another elf before. It washed over him in such drowning waves that he felt he couldn’t breath. His heart broke for the boy.  
Legolas felt something shatter within his father, he saw his eyes glass over and grey before him, and he suddenly felt sick to the core. What was this? Why was his father so suddenly changed? Had he done something wrong? He knew that crying was unbecoming of a prince, but he did not think it would have so truly offended his father.  
“Ada..?” The younger elf now reached his hand forward and made to brush Thranduil's hair away from his face but thought better of it. If his sensitive nature was what had disappointed the older elf, then this action would have been more upsetting than anything and Legolas didn’t want to hurt his father any more, so he instead let his hand fall away.  
Thranduil watched as his child moved to touch him, to seek the comfort he clearly needed, but then pull away. Seeing his child so shaken and nervous made him instinctively reach forward, although it was an action he hadn’t done since Legolas was still an elfling, and he placed his hand on the back of Legolas’ neck, bringing their foreheads together and holding them there. He hoped the action would calm his son, stop the tears that were still falling freely, although it simply ended with him crying more heavily.  
The simply contact brought black floods of memories from Legolas’ youth, things that he had forgotten over the years and for the second time that night he felt the weight of his age. He felt so weak, so childish to cry and even worse with his father trying to comfort him. He was far too old to be doing this and yet he found himself wrapping his arms around his father's waist tentatively. His wrists almost too weak to pull his hands up and grab onto the thick fabrics flowing down the others back.  
Thranduil's hand moved from his sons neck and started gently stroking his hair, trying to stop the violent sobs now escaping the young elf.

**Author's Note:**

> honestly this is a fic that I wrote ages ago and never finished but I like it so I thought I might as well do something with it and post it, I might finish it one day but until then, ima just post it


End file.
